“What is all that junk?” demanded Sugar.
“There’s a storm coming. I foraged for berries, gathered firewood, and used the hose to fill the baggie with fresh water!”
“I see.” Sugar stared at her sister for a minute, nodding her head up and down. “Did you bring my lavender eye pillow and the jelly beans?”
“Um, no,” replied Dirt.
“You wouldn’t last a day in the wild without me, kid. Not one day.”
Chapter 6
Rabbits like to stay close to cover,” said Dirt, leading the squad along the long back fence of the yard. “Try to think like a rabbit,” she continued. “Which way would a rabbit go?”
“If I were a rabbit, I would go that way.” Sugar pointed.
“If I were a rabbit,” said Dirt, “I wouldn’t go that way because that’s the way to the mall, and I would sense the vibrations of the heavy traffic.”
“Exactly,” said Sugar, turning around. “And when I sensed those vibrations, I would turn around and go that way, behind the tomato patch, and through the hole in fence that we dug last year to reach the trampoline in the neighbor’s yard.”
“If I were a rabbit,” said Dirt, “my keen hearing would pick up on all those kids in the yard with the trampoline, and I would determine that it might not be the best way to go.”
“I gotta hand it to you, kid,” said Sugar. “You’re a better fake rabbit than I am.”
“That means so much to me, Sugar,” answered Dirt. “Thank you.”
“All right, kid,” said Sugar, turning serious. “Enough blubbering.”
The sky grew dark, and the chickens pressed even closer to the fence for some cover from the wind.
“What are we going to do when we find the rabbit?” asked Sweetie.
“Throw the pillowcase over his head and drag him back to safety. That rabbit has no business in the wild,” answered Sugar.
“The bag part sounds a little . . . extreme,” said Dirt. Hard drops of rain bounced off their heads. “We can just gently lead him back to the yard.”
“Do rabbits actually live in the wild?” asked Sweetie.
“Of course,” replied Dirt. The chickens raised the tarp up over their heads for cover from the storm.
“How do they protect themselves without marshmallows and mustaches?” asked Sweetie.
“Excellent question,” said Sugar.
“Mostly they run,” answered Dirt. “They are also are very good at hiding and staying perfectly still.”
“Speaking of still, doesn’t the yard seem kind of quiet?” asked Sweetie.
“Yeah, where is everybody?” asked Poppy. “I don’t hear any birds or see any squirrels. . . .”
“Good observation, Poppy,” said Dirt. “Lots of animals have the instinct to take cover and lay low when they sense bad weather or danger.”
“Maybe we should . . . do that too?” suggested Poppy. He looked up at the dark sky.
“Chickens don’t run from danger, kid,” said Sugar, rain dripping from the corners of her wet mustache. A deep boom of thunder opened up the sky and shook the fence. Lightning cracked right on its heels, and the rain came down so hard, it knocked the chickens to the ground.
“What should we do?” asked Sweetie, her eyes wide.
“RUN!!!!” yelled Sugar.
Chapter 7
It’s too far to the chicken coop!” yelled Dirt, struggling to see in the pouring rain. “We’ll make a run for the rabbit hutch! Keep one wing on the fence—it will guide us to the other side of the yard! STAY CLOSE!”
“The water is rising!” yelled Poppy, holding his wings up in the air to keep them dry. “Help!” A gust of wind lifted him off his feet and blew him ten feet back.
Dirt, Sugar, and Sweetie ran back to him, fighting their way through the torrential rain.
“Keep your wings down!!” Sugar yelled over the storm. “Otherwise, we’ll blow all over the yard!”
“We need to tie ourselves together!” yelled Dirt. The wind blew her feathers straight back from her face.
“With what?” asked Poppy.
Dirt looked around frantically. “Our mustaches!”
“Good thinking!” yelled Sugar. The chickens ripped the mustaches off one at a time.
“Ouch!”
“Ouch!”
“Ouch!”
“Ouch!”
Then they tied themselves together and trudged through the rain and the mud, fighting through the wind every step of the way. A giant puddle at the bottom of the rabbit-hutch ramp blocked their way.
“Can we go through it?” yelled Sugar.
Dirt tossed a rock into the puddle and watched it disappear beneath the surface. “Too deep!”
“Head count!” yelled Dirt. “One!” The water rose up over their ankles.
“I’m one!” yelled Sugar. “I’m always one! Start over!” The water rose up to the tips of their wings.
“You can’t always be one, Sugar! Head count starts with whoever who calls the head count! That’s a rule of the wild!”
“Do chickens float?” yelled Poppy. The water was up to their necks.
“I think wild chickens can float!” said Sweetie. “Are we wild chickens?”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” yelled Sugar. “We were born and raised in a heated box! We are not wild chickens!!”
“Head count!” Dirt and Sugar yelled at the same time.
“ONE!!” Dirt and Sugar called at the same time.
“I AM A WILD CHICKEN!” yelled Poppy. He dove into the water and floated on his back, a marshmallow under each wing, kicking his legs as fast as he could.
“Head count!” he called. “ONE!” His mustache pulled Sweetie in right behind him.
“TWO!” yelled Sweetie.
“THREE!” yelled Sugar, following Sweetie.
“FOUR!” yelled Dirt, following Sugar.
Exhausted, Poppy crawled up the ramp, pulling on his mustache rope. One by one, the chickens pulled one another out of the water and then dragged one another to the top, diving into the rabbit hutch for cover.
A blast of wind blew the door shut behind them.
“I had no idea we could float!” said Sweetie.
“It was the marshmallow, kid,” said Sugar, still out of breath. “The marshmallows are filled with air, so they float.”
“So that’s why you put them in the emergency survival kits!” said Sweetie.
“Exactly,” said Sugar. She looked over at Dirt and shrugged.
“Head count,” said Dirt, frazzled and out of breath. “One!”
“Two!”
“Three!”
“Four!”
“Five!”
“Five??” asked Sugar.
Chapter 8
Dirt, Sugar, Poppy, and Sweetie turned around to see the rabbit emerging from a dark corner of the hutch.
“We’ve been looking all over for you!” cried Dirt. “We thought you made a break for it and ran back into the wild!”
“You must be the chickens that were spying on me from the maple tree and the gutter along the back of the house,” said the rabbit.
“I told you it was spying!” said Sweetie.
“I prefer observing,” added Dirt.
“You knew you were under surveillance?” asked Sugar. “But, how?”
“I’m a wild animal, kid,” said the rabbit. “I’ve got instincts. I know when I’m being watched.”
“Listen, Sparkles, we’re the ones out in the wild with nothing but mustaches and marshmallows. You’re the one in a bunny box, eating salad out of a bowl.” Sugar grabbed a piece of the rabbit’s lettuce and took a big chomp.
“My name is not Sparkles,” said the rabbit.
“It is to me,” replied Sugar.
“You can’t do that. You can’t just change somebody’s name,” answered the rabbit.
“There are no rules in the wild, kid,” replied Sugar. “Deal with it.”
“What were you doing in that box?” a
sked Dirt.
“It’s my hiding box,” answered the rabbit. “Barbara built it into the hutch for me. Lots of rabbits have them. I sensed the storm and came in here.”
“Sensed the storm?” said Sugar suspiciously. “What kind of bunny mumbo jumbo is that?”
“Like I said,” replied the rabbit. “I’m a wild animal. I can sense things. . . .”
“Listen, kid,” said Sugar, “if you want to pretend you’re a wild animal with special senses, well, you know what, bunny, that’s okay by me. Sometimes I pretend that I crashed to Earth on a meteorite and that’s how I got my superpowers of survival and surveillance.”
“I really am a wild animal,” said the rabbit. “And I really do have heightened senses.”
“You’re a dreamer, kid,” said Sugar. “I like that about you. Don’t change.”
“Your hiding box is just like my old shoe!” said Poppy. “It helps me feel safe, and it doesn’t smell very good.”
“That’s my litter box, kid,” said the rabbit. “The hiding box is on the other side.”
“Come look!” cried Sweetie. “The rain stopped, and it’s beautiful!” The chickens and the rabbit rushed toward the door.
“Is it a rainbow?” asked Poppy.
“No, it’s MOM!” yelled Sweetie. “She’s coming up the ramp to save us!”
“Uh-oh,” mumbled Sugar.
Moosh swung the door open and gathered up all her chicks.
“Did you sense that we were in danger, Mom?” asked Poppy.
“No,” replied Moosh. “Sweetie left me a note and a pair of binoculars. I was watching you from the high perch in the chicken coop the whole time.”
“You were spying on us?” demanded Sugar.
“I call it observing,” said Moosh.
“Well, it sure feels like spying to me!” Sugar protested. She turned to face Sweetie. “Why would you leave Mom a note?”
“Just a survival skill I picked up,” replied Sweetie.
“From who?” asked Sugar.
“From Mom,” replied Sweetie.
“You worked very nicely together,” said Moosh. “I loved what you did with the mustaches and the marshmallows, too,” she added. “I’m so proud of all of you.” She used her beak to cut through the mustache rope.
“Thanks, Mom,” said Dirt. “I guess we’re all still wild chickens at heart.”
“I guess so,” said Moosh. “By the way, you’re all grounded for leaving the coop without telling me where you were going. Except for Sweetie, of course.”
Sugar glared at her sister.
“Survival skills, kid,” announced Sweetie.
Epilogue
It took a while, but Sparkles the bunny (the name kind of stuck), eventually felt safe enough to come out of the hutch and wander around a bit. Of course, I walked him around the yard a few times to help him get a feel for things.
As for the squad, Moosh decided that the best way to dry the chickens out was to send them back up to the clothesline. They fluffed up real nice and even smelled like sunshine. Sparkles “observed” them and wrote a poem about it:
Blowing in the breeze
Poppy, Sweetie, Sugar, Dirt
Fluffy trouble birds
“I wouldn’t stand under there if I were you . . . ,” said Poppy.
“Is that rain?” asked Sparkles, looking up at Sweetie on the clothesline.
“Keep dreaming, kid,” said Sugar. “Keep dreaming.”
Doreen Cronin is the author of the Chicken Squad series as well as many bestselling books, including Click, Clack, Ho! Ho! Ho!; Click, Clack, Peep!; and the Caldecott Honor Book Click, Clack, Moo: Cows That Type. Her hobbies include lurking in the shadows and solving imaginary crimes. She lives in Brooklyn, New York. Visit her at DoreenCronin.com.
Stephen Gilpin lives and draws pictures for brilliant children in a cave just north of Hiawatha, Kansas, with his wife, Angie; their kids; and an infestation of dogs.
chickensquad.com
Visit us at simonandschuster.com/kids
authors.simonandschuster.com/Doreen-Cronin
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Also by Doreen Cronin
Bloom
Bounce
The Chicken Squad #1: The First Misadventure
The Chicken Squad #2: The Case of the Weird Blue Chicken: The Next Misadventure
Click, Clack, Boo!
Click, Clack, Ho! Ho! Ho!
Click, Clack, Moo: Cows That Type
Click, Clack, Peep!
Click, Clack, Quackity-Quack
Click, Clack, Splish, Splash
Dooby Dooby Moo
Duck for President
Giggle, Giggle, Quack
M.O.M. (Mom Operating Manual)
Stretch
Thump, Quack, Moo
Wiggle
ATHENEUM BOOKS FOR YOUNG READERS
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2016 by Doreen Cronin
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ISBN 978-1-4814-5046-1
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Doreen Cronin, Into the Wild
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